


the anatomy of breaking down

by Livali



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, all thh survivors are good friends here because i can do that, and they were ROOMMATES, modern + college au, tokosyomaru is background but it has enough presence to warrant a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27973511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livali/pseuds/Livali
Summary: There was probably a rulebook for this somewhere. She would open it, cut her thumb on a page and stain it, look at the words imprinted on the first few leaves after the hardbound cover, in bold, black type, the letters searing into her retinas, saying—You do not, for the love of god, fall in love with your best friend.or;Aoi can't stand the idea that everyone thinks she and Kyoko are dating. (Mostly because of the fact that she is actually, undoubtedly in love with her.)
Relationships: Asahina Aoi/Kirigiri Kyoko, Fukawa Touko/Naegi Komaru, Genocider Syo | Genocide Jack/Naegi Komaru, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	the anatomy of breaking down

**Author's Note:**

> *puts head in hands* this is so self serving
> 
> 15/01: changed summary!
> 
> insp: eat your heart out – patience

Aoi didn’t mean to.

She didn’t mean to at all. It’s the first thought that runs in her head, sinking into her brain and burning itself into the skin of her eyelids. It feels like this was something she had to remember all the time now, this reality, the way she didn’t mean to. And it’s here, the reminder haunting the depths of her skull, touching and grasping at every nook and cranny with the knowledge that she _didn’t mean to_.

And still, even if she didn’t, she’s done it anyway.

Aoi had a contingency measure for this, or she thinks she did; which was _huh, that’s cool but it’s not like it would happen_ and then _I will cross that bridge if I ever come to it_ , and that was all there was to it. It’s mind-numbingly simple, this plan was up her alley (act first and think later), and it was so _her_ that she could do it blindfolded.

Unfortunately, she may have overestimated herself.

(And by ‘may’, what she really means is she totally, utterly failed.)

There was probably a rulebook for this somewhere. She would open it, cut her thumb on a page and stain it, look at the words imprinted on the first few leaves after the hardbound cover, in bold, black type, the letters searing into her retinas, saying—

“You do not, for the love of god, fall in love with your best friend.”

It’s written that simply. A warning, a red stoplight maybe, or just as it is, a bunch of paragraphs repeatedly underlined, circled, and possibly even highlighted in neon yellow marker to show its importance. And Aoi has a feeling—yes, _absolutely,_ she was being impartial and unbiased with this feeling—that this particular rule was broken more than it was followed; _oh,_ by the way, it wasn’t the present day media she’s read and watched that made her think that way.

(She remembers having this conversation with Yuta once, and knows every detail of it, can see it laid out and open like a map, can see it like those digital displays of all eighty-eight constellations spinning underneath her feet, can see the framework of everything coming apart at the seams.

That’s not gonna happen to me, Aoi says, the awkward laugh at the end of her sentence speaks more than what she really does out loud. She and I aren’t really like that—why is this so popular?

It’s only common when it’s unrequited, Yuta says.

Yeah, well, she pauses. We aren’t like that then. We don’t even like each other.

One thousand yen, Yuta declares smugly. One thousand yen that you two start dating before the end of the year.

Deal, she says, which seems like a great idea at the time.

She knew now, that was her grave she dug then and there.)

More importantly, the entire point of this is that she didn’t mean to fall in love with Kirigiri Kyoko. It just—she didn’t really know either—it just _happened_. It wasn’t like in the movies Komaru loved taking her to, or those lapses in judgment Makoto sure loved emphasizing when he was around Byakuya. It wasn’t like Icarus, wasn’t like she had this fierce need to be near her at all times, wasn’t like all her emotions were flying everywhere everywhere _everywhere and by god, everywhere_ at the sight of her.

It was more like she just… walked into it.

She was led here, led to this epiphany, perhaps by the hand or with a palm at the back of her shoulder, and she let it happen. All of it, of her own will. Walking and walking, guided towards her destination.

Aoi can almost laugh at it, at the moment she realizes she’s fallen in love, long after turning twenty-one and on September’s brightest morning. It’s so vivid she can imagine the colors of the memory bleeding through paper as though it was a painting; dampening the back of the canvas, until all the oil trickles to the ends and stains the wooden wedges, the image shining as if it was opalescent.

She was lazing around on the couch when Kyoko comes into the living room, fresh from the shower she’s taken at the first sign of daylight, and her clothes (the usual dark purple trench coat, white dress shirt and black pants, pressed and pristine) embrace her in a way that makes something in Aoi’s stomach drop.

Kyoko’s eyes were she knew as they always were; steel and kaleidoscopic, all combinations of lavender and lilac she could count even from beyond her hands that seemed to represent Kirigiri Kyoko—cold, scrutinizing, and beautiful—the last adjective has always been there, but now Aoi knows that she _means_ it. And there’s always this lurking gentleness behind them, usually behind layers of distanced coldness, only making itself known to those she deems close and special, but all of it— _all_ of that softness and not a single trace left behind, shows when she looks at Aoi.

(And if she was more observant prior to this little moment in time, she would have known it was only reserved for her.)

“We’ll be late if you keep lounging around like that.” Kyoko sighs, a little fond, then puts one gloved hand to Aoi’s shoulder and it feels warmer than usual, for one reason or another. “Go change.”

And then it was like _oh, you look gorgeous, I think I want to kiss you_.

Her imagination runs amok, and she can’t stop thinking about it (thinking thinking _thinking_ —), what it would be like to run her fingers through her hair, brush the same hair out of her eyes, her fingers tilting Kyoko’s jaw down and pressing her lips on hers, and doing it all over again. She can’t stop thinking, can’t stop wondering what it would be like, can’t stop imagining her hands touching her, her jaws, her cheeks, the small groove above her lips, the bottom of it, skimming along every part of her and kissing her senseless until they run out of air and get swallowed by the cosmos. The images settle low in her mind, making itself home in her head as though it belonged there and it was always meant for her to imagine it.

(Kirigiri Kyoko is a black hole and she’s going to pull Aoi in and surpass her, possess her and overtake her and drown her completely, until she can no longer distinguish where she ends and where Kyoko begins.)

Aoi blinks (stares), and then blurts, “You’re so pretty.”

Kyoko blinks, too, then observes her carefully as if she was being dissected apart, piece by piece. (Like Toko when she’s writing drafts, her frantic but thoughtful kanjis scribbled into the papers and up to the margins, penned with inspiration, the symbols squished and yet still made clear to the very precipice of each page. It echoes with caution, a loving caution only those with many stories and experiences to have survived like Fukawa Toko can tell, and that raw emotion is translated into something only a few can achieve or had a right to, and Kirigiri Kyoko is a criminal in more ways than one.)

“We’re still going to be late.” Kyoko says flatly, though there is something strangled in her voice, her eyes slightly furrowed and a little more color to her cheeks. “Get dressed.” She mumbles, looks away, and finally leaves her alone on the couch, going to the kitchen and Aoi hears the sound of the coffee maker going off.

She doesn’t mind.

Aoi heaves out a shuddering sigh, and finds that Kyoko’s face can’t leave her thoughts anymore—she can’t help it now. Can’t help the hammering of her heart when she remembers Kyoko smiling at her, whenever she thinks of her tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, the leather of her gloves scraping softly against her skin when she is reading, and only for it to fall back against her eyes again, fluidly and stubbornly; all of these feelings amassed can only be named _Kyoko_ , lying in her chest but it doesn’t bother her at all—like the weight was always in there, and she was just realizing it in the moment. 

“Oh.” She mutters to herself, staring at the ceiling as she sinks into the cushions of the sofa. “Oops?”

* * *

What now?

Not so much, really. (God, she hopes so.)

It wasn’t so bad, at first. Nothing drastically changes and happens on the outside. She still talks to Kyoko like she did before, still gave her hugs and waited for her after lectures and bickered and talked about silly things when they’re free to—but all of it, everything about it, each and every second Aoi spends with her is treasured in a way she hasn’t noticed before.

And now, she thinks that maybe she’s spent way too much time staring at Toko and Komaru saying they were 'just' best friends while they danced around each other’s feelings, because it felt like every longing look they shot to each other was mirrored on her own end to Kyoko.

It definitely was _not_ a good idea to learn the basics of ‘how to be a hopelessly pining best friend’ from the two people she used to tease for it. (They were so notorious for it that Makoto, Byakuya and _Hiro_ , of all people, who wouldn’t know romance until it slapped him in the face, flinched at any mention of their supposed and totally platonic ‘friendship’, but now she honestly feels like shit because—because, _okay, yeah, I get it_ , _this isn’t funny at all_. At least the two were together now, so that’s one problem down.)

So _maybe_ Aoi’s pining, and that’s _fine_. This is fine. It’s not like it was a big deal or anything, there was only this really nice and warm feeling in her chest whenever Kyoko looked at her that made it hard to concentrate sometimes. And, well, it wasn’t _that_ distracting (it was), but this didn’t spell good things for her either because she tended to spend so much time with her, being roommates _and_ the technicality that Kyoko was her other best friend besides Sakura and all.

It’s not like Aoi can stop chattering while watering those little lilacs they watched over at the balcony, and it wasn’t as if she can tear herself away from Kyoko when she needed someone to listen to her rambling about another law assignment, and it wasn’t like she can stop herself from staring at the calculating look in her purple eyes when she’s unravelling some big mystery, masked with this calm fire and determination that was unique to her and her alone, and it wasn’t as though she was—

(So _maybe_ Aoi’s realizing that she’s probably, likely, undoubtedly in love with her best friend. Why she’s seeing this so late—she has no idea. She used to do all these things before and remained happily oblivious until she started thinking that kissing Kyoko seemed like one hell of a good time.)

Anyhow, she’s on her mind everyday now, the thought of just seeing Kyoko’s face is enough to awaken something inside of her, something warm and tumultuous.

She was getting distracted—way more than before—and that was _saying_ something, because it’s always been easy for her head to wander before finding a place to go. She’s spacing out more often and it’s kind of embarrassing, really, because sometimes Makoto would catch her staring into nothing, and it’s not like she would just randomly blabber out a, “I’m in love with Kyoko and it’s not good for my attention span because she’s so pretty and okay, maybe, maybe just maybe I need some help like god—“

Until she does.

(Wait, Makoto says, pausing, and then blinks. What?

Yeah, she says simply.

Oh, Makoto breathes out, and then he shoots her a soothing smile. You want to talk about it? He asks.

No, she thinks of saying, but she says _yes_ instead because she’s an idiot, Naegi Makoto is probably the best person to talk about this to, and she needs the company anyway.

It’s so stupid, way over my head because of some pretty girl, she says. But you know, this isn’t just some pretty girl. This is _Kyoko_.

And that meant more to her than she was comfortable admitting.)

There’s never been a lot of things that throw her off-balance, exercise and positivity among other things, but one day, someone makes the mistake of thinking they were a couple and Aoi is left thinking about those particular string of words for _days_.

It’s nothing significant in the grand scheme of things—just the two of them sitting at a table by the window of the diner near the university, and she was complaining about her next deadline.

She knows Kyoko was trying her best to follow the jargon she used in line with her physical course, and Aoi’s just warmed by the idea that Kyoko even took the time in the first place to study things far from her degree just so she could listen. But this was Kyoko, who she rants to about stupid men for hours on end, who knows how much cream and sugar she likes putting in her coffee, who lets her write little hearts on the margins of her plain black notebooks, who lends an ear when needed, who was her best friend, and Aoi appreciates (adores) it, no matter how little Kyoko thinks of it, paying her back tenfold. 

Kyoko might think Aoi doesn’t notice it, the effort, the copies of Aoi’s modules crammed in between her laptop, but she totally knows, and if she was delusional enough, she entertains the thought of her best friend liking her back, of all things.

(Or that sometimes, she thinks she catches _Kyoko_ staring, like she hung the moon and stars, which was funny, because it was usually Aoi who did that. So naturally, like the lovesick and dense idiot she is, she doesn’t think anything of it.)

That’s when it clings and sticks to her, when the waiter comes, places down their orders and says something like ‘have a nice date and evening, ladies’ or whatever.

Great, she thinks, I’m so in love with you even strangers can tell. Ugh.

(Darn, she probably shouldn’t have been so obvious.)

Was she so obvious about it that everyone else near them picked it up? Was she so obviously and disgustingly in love with her best friend that even the waiter sees it at first glance? Was she so obvious that even Kyoko could see it?

(Was she just overthinking this?)

She doesn’t know, and that terrifies her more than she’d ever want to admit, frightens her in a way that her breath stumbles in her lungs, the air leaking and breaking out in spasms. It’s as if a force was pulling her body and her soul apart, taking her away from Kyoko’s smile and her eyes and the love she feels and replacing what is missing with fear, fear that forms the wall between them both. And everything about Aoi, her heart and the love she has for Kyoko, is situated differently from where _she_ is, and the only thing she can do is watch the way her love swells (growing, growing and growing) in Kyoko’s presence, watch the way she falls in love, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it.

It’s inevitable, and she’s proving it.

(And she wants to say this one more time, when she is alone and groaning into the pillows of her room and in her bed—how every thought of Kirigiri Kyoko moves her not just with love, but fear, the fear that comes with that love.)

Aoi never stood a chance.

* * *

“You,” Toko says, and her face is doing that scrunching thing, the one look that means she’s perusing something—or in this case, ‘someone’. (Heh, _perusing_ , she’s learned that word from one of Kyoko’s detective novels.) “You’ve been kind of w-weird lately.”

“Huh?” Aoi blinks rapidly, trying not to falter under the weight of her grey eyes. This was the first time she’s caught Toko free in weeks, the other woman so enamored with everything about Naegi Komaru and then somehow realizing that _wait a minute, she’s not the only person in the world_ —and Aoi jumps at the first chance she gets, Makoto dragging Komaru away with similar intentions.

Aoi’s proud for getting an opportunity to spend lunch with someone else today, because that meant more time to getting better at balancing her thoughts about Kyoko, and her thoughts about everything else.

“Spacing out, a bit dazed and confused looking. Anyone c-can see it if they looked, idiot.” She mumbles, frowns, her nose crinkling and brows furrowing in a way Aoi knows that Komaru (who didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut to save her life) thought and said was cute. “W-What happened?”

“I—what? I’m sorry?” Aoi says back to her, blinking again, and it comes out like a question rather than a cue to elaborate; it isn’t exactly a lie or a ruse for her to save face at all, she’s just genuinely confused by what Toko really means.

“I know you—damn—you d-definitely _know_ what I’m talking about.” She says, a little loosely, but her eyes are more narrowed, as if she knows exactly where this conversation was going.

“I really don’t know what’s going on here—”

“You do.” She says simply, huffing and clutching at her long skirt.

Aoi lets out a breath and scratches the back of her neck. “No… I, Toko, I really don’t know what’s being talked about here.”

“You do—”

“I really don’t.”

Toko stares at her.

“I’m in love with Kyoko.” She blurts out, blinks, and then covers her mouth with wide eyes. (Oh, _darn_ it.)

“And?” Toko blinks at her owlishly. “A-Aren’t you two already dating?”

“ _What.”_ Flies faster from her mouth more than she had time to think, a bit too loudly, judging by the two other patrons in the café turning at their direction and Toko flinching backward. She mutters a short but sincere apology, grimacing and processing whatever was just said. The way in which her friend had asked the question implied a full sense of knowing, _knowing_ , and it sets her on edge.

Dating.

She thought they were _dating_. She and Kyoko. With _Kyoko_.

(Is this what everyone thinks they are?)

“I t-think it’s weird you two are even trying to hide it,” she scoffs. “It’s too obvious, Omaru and I figured it out months ago—” 

“Oh my god, no, no, _no!_ I’m, we’re _,_ ” Aoi waves her arms in front of herself frantically, nearly knocking over her hot chocolate. “Toko, I’m, oh no, no, look—” She feels her face flush, and she puts her head in her hands to hide her embarrassment, “—Toko, we aren’t dating.”

“…what?” She raises an eyebrow. “A-are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Aoi snaps back defensively, grumbling into her palms. “I think I would’ve known if Kyoko and I were dating or something.”

“Huh.” Toko says, blinking incredulously, and then purses her lips and averts her gaze. “From the way you two l-looked at each other we thought… Omaru knew the first time she met you two.” She grimaces, pinching the temples of her nose. “Are you sure you’re not dating? You both live together and do the thing a-anyway.”

“The thing?”

“The thing.” Toko’s lips twist, the curves of her mouth wobbling as she struggles not to smile. Aoi can see her holding back, though it’s obviously a failing effort as the amusement on her face is as clear as day to her, the creases in her cheeks not at all that subtle. “A-are you for real?”

“What does that mean?” Aoi whines, a bit agitated. It—it was like Toko found this whole situation _funny_ or something—and it wasn’t. Clearly she was so in love with Kyoko that everyone assumed they were dating. _Dating._ Like, in an actual romantic relationship. Not platonic. Like. At all.

Almost right away it all just sort of clicks; Makoto’s teasing smile when she says she has to meet Kyoko after classes. Hiro grinning at her when he says he’s cancelled plans for dinner so it’s only her and Kyoko again, waving her off in a way that seemed almost too eager. The way Byakuya eyed her and Kyoko at the movies one time with curious eyes, before nodding resolutely and smirking. Sakura taking her aside, gently touching her shoulders and reassuring her that she could be trusted with anything Aoi has to say. And Yuta, who bet a thousand yen on the line as if he knew he was going to win.

Oh.

She wonders for a few moments if Kyoko noticed, or if she had been just as blissfully ignorant to all of this as she was.

“Y-you both act like you’re dating.” Toko says, then hums, effectively cutting off Aoi’s self-reflection. “Like,” she says, much more quietly, her eyes hazing as she becomes consumed by thought, “like, everything’s there and the o-only thing that’s missing is the label.”

She proceeds to slam her face onto the table and groan. “Oh my god.”

“Let m-me see, you’re both obviously ‘pining’ for each other—”

“We’re not,” she looks up and cries helplessly.

“—and everyone thinks, wait, no, everyone _knows_ y-you’re dating except the two of you.” A few more grumbles escape her, and then she smirks knowingly. “Sounds about right. It’s almost the same. T-this is so stupid.”

“What the heck are you talking about—”

“Are you going to tell her?” She interjects before Aoi can finish.

“Um,” Aoi says flatly, blanking for a moment, “No.” The words don’t sound right. “Wait—yes?” She tries instead, they don’t fit either, and then, “Probably. I don’t know.” She groans again, going back to having her face in the table. “I have no idea.”

“You can t-talk to Omaru,” she murmurs. “She’ll know what to say.”

“No, Toko.” Aoi says, straightening up and covering her grimace with a tight smile. “I will—I’ll figure it out later. Right now, let’s just catch up.”

Toko looks at her dubiously, but lets it be.

* * *

(Aoi remembers Toko getting a ninety eight percent on one of her literary assignments; she remembers herself standing by the doors of the lecture hall as the professor praises and admires her friend’s style and technique, the way she’s managed to move them to tears halfway, how she’s conceived something so naked, bare, passionate and loving to the highest degree. Toko whispers, “I love her,” and Aoi hears it clearly in the silence of the room. The teacher smiles knowingly. You do, they say, I can see it.

Her writing is gorgeous, that much is known, that there's always more to it than just what is seen on the surface—and it's not so easy to connotate if you're not a hurt person, to see it and ask; is it poetry or is it hurt, is it love or is it ruin, sometimes there is no way to tell the difference, but this was something else entirely. Something out of anyone's reach. This was _personal_.

And Aoi, who’s never finished even one novel in her entire life, is stricken by it, fawns over it, like the wind was stolen from her body entirely; it's no robbery, and it's no theft either—this is on the brink of murder. The prose is stunning, emotive, Fukawa Toko lives in these words, in these paragraphs, makes it hers, evoking images undone like pulling thread. Aoi's fingers handle the edges of the prints in an uncharacteristic sort of gentleness, but she reckons Komaru’s likely seen this _first_ , with the younger woman’s lips parted in awe and her eyes wide, holding back the urge to cry on the spot.

And while Komaru showers her girlfriend’s work with compliments and _oohs_ and _aahs_ at every word printed on the sheets, Toko whispers to her, with the softest expression on her face, something Aoi knows she’s never going to see again for a long while, “I love her so much.”

And Aoi knows what she said will remain true for an entire lifetime.

“Oh,” Komaru murmurs when she relays the conversation. “I love her too.”

“You two—you two, _god_ , I don’t know.” Aoi says, and now that this memory is being revisited she notices Kyoko passing through every thought in her mind like she’s a landmark there, like Kyoko’s built a home in the back of her skull, like Kyoko’s lived here.

Now, she honestly just feels really dumb for not realizing her feelings sooner.

“She’s amazing,” Komaru says quietly, gingerly thumbing at the papers like they’re made of glass. “I feel like I’m going to cry.”

“Again?”

She laughs loudly. “Sure, an encore or something.”

Aoi giggles and shakes her head. “Come on, go ahead. Start gushing at me.”

“I’ve—I’ve never read something so—” she laughs again, “— _You are like this, and many have changed you. And she looked at you, staring beyond your irises and into your soul, sewed you into the pages, one by one she picked up the pieces and loved them like they fit you both, and she loved the scars as if it was never meant to cut and steal the blood from her fingers._

_This was reckless. And now, you too, are reckless._

_You are tired of hating; you have spent so long living with it that you feel vulgarized, like callouses decorticating, and everything beneath the skin is raw. But you have never seen it for what it is, not until now, not before you’ve seen her and the way she loves._

_Nothing touches you when you’re made of abrasions. When you’re made of wounds. When you have thick skin. If you’ve learned to hate for so long, hate yourself and the world and what it has done to you as it stood by and watched, then it is all that you will know._

_And now you try to see everything else, touch them and hold them and feel them and grasp onto them and give it names and make them yours. Compassion. Understanding. Goodness. Love._

_Perhaps, that is what you were searching for all along. The truth of love, love behind the guilt and the fear and the secrets, gasping as it is open for the Earth to see, that what you seek is not forgiveness._

_You know where it is. You are searching for yourself,_ ” Komaru continues, the humor in her voice long gone, and only acceptance and reverence in them instead. _“What you are searching for is home.”_

Aoi sits still on the bean bag, and Komaru meets her eyes with a small smile.

“I’ve seen what love looks like.” She says.

Aoi smiles back.

Yeah. She has.

That doesn’t help her, because now she wants it more.)

* * *

_Hey,_ Sakura texts her, _are you alone right now?_

_yea y tho,_ Aoi responds immediately.

_I want to talk about something_ , she texts back. _I hope you don’t have any plans_.

_oh im free rn dw!!!_

Ten minutes or so later, Sakura knocks on the door to her apartment, and since it’s only a few blocks away it was probably a nice jog for her.

And of course, Aoi lets her in.

“What’s up?” She asks, voice a bit scratchy and hair messy. Aoi was napping when Sakura texted her, but this is her friend so she doesn’t mind being seen like this anyway.

“Fukawa told me you and Kirigiri aren’t dating.” Sakura says, crossing her arms and frowning. “I believe her, but I want to hear it from you.”

“I’m—no,” Aoi cringes, shifting away from her friend and rocking on the balls of her feet while trying to avoid eye contact. “We aren’t dating.”

**“** Surely?” Sakura says, eyeing her suspiciously. “That’s… unexpected.”

Aoi looks at her for a moment, taking in how she’s looking at her in disbelief, and she wonders how Sakura allowed herself to jump to the conclusion that she and Kyoko were a thing. Did she pick up on her feelings and assumed?

(Did _everyone_ in her friend group know before she did?)

“Yeah, I guess?” Aoi sighs, keeping her gaze away from hers. She doesn’t know how to face her, not like this—not with the idea that Sakura believed that she and Kyoko were... a thing. That she and Kyoko were involved with each other and she was apparently all for it and didn’t bat an eye.

“Hina—”

“I know.”

“—you know that’s unbelievable, right?” Sakura says, pursing her lips.

“I know,” she mumbles. “Toko and I have talked through this before. I’m kind of way too obvious. Why does everyone think that way? I never even said I was seeing anyone.”

“Yes,” Sakura says, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Maybe.”

“Ugh.” Aoi buries her face in her hands, suddenly overcome with the urge to bury herself alive.

“Oh,” Sakura says more quietly, moving and standing much closer to her. “Your not-girlfriend’s back.”

A small whine leaves her throat at that.

Certainly enough, she drops her arms and raises her head to find Kyoko closing the door, making her way over to the both of them. She looks pretty, _as usual_ , Aoi thinks to herself, her hair in a sloppy ponytail Aoi had insisted she do more often, and her body clad in the red Hope’s Peak hoodie she’s borrowed from her, the black leggings do nothing but tell her of every dangerous thing Aoi was ever warned about.

She’s pretty.

This is so unfair.

“Oh, hello,” Kyoko says, the rare and soft laugh that leaves her mouth is melodic, and for a second Aoi wonders what her singing voice would sound like. “What’s the occasion?”

Sakura, noticing her quickly reddening cheeks, is quick to divert the attention. “I wanted to see how the both of you were doing.”

“Yeah,” Aoi manages. “Just wanted to talk.”

“I see,” Kyoko says amiably, her lips peeling into a small smile. She then turns to Aoi, and begins to straighten her clothing. She looks down at the gloved hands, the hands smoothing out her hoodie and shirt, hearing Kyoko mumble something about fish for dinner as she trails her hands on Aoi’s shoulders one more time. “Here,” she whispers to her, nodding and heading to the kitchen to set down the grocery bags she’s carrying.

Sakura shoots her a knowing look, and Aoi glares weakly at her.

“I’ll be cooking for dinner today,” Kyoko starts, arranging something in the cabinets. “You can stay if you like to join us, Oogami.”

“No, it’s alright, I was about to leave.” Sakura shakes her head with a friendly smile, pretending like she wasn’t intruding on something private. She gently squeezes Aoi’s shoulder, in the way she does when she knows Aoi is overthinking something. Which is _sparse_ , because Aoi rarely overthinks. “Good evening, you two.”

“Bye,” Aoi croaks out, keeping her words like gardens instead of guns. A stark contrast to Kyoko’s even and sincere ‘see you soon’.

“So,” Kyoko calls from the kitchen after the door closes, her voice shattering the very concept of silence. She walks back in front of Aoi, her eyes twinkling in the way that came with her when she’s with the people she cherished, and the words ‘I love you’ have never been more perfect for this moment. “Do you want to help me cook, or do you just want to watch?”

“I’ll watch.” Aoi settles on responding with a sheepish laugh, rubbing at the back of her neck and stubbornly trying to keep eye contact. “I might burn something on the pan again.”

“You won’t.” Kyoko says wryly, the evening light unable to obscure her grin, no matter how small it is. “I’ll help you.” She adds, and Aoi can’t resist, so she takes the only option to propel her forward, breathing out an _okay_ , taking Kyoko’s hand in hers, and tugging her along to the pantry.

(Purple irises meet hers and she can see the seasons shifting in them, and she swears— _hopes_ —she can see her longing, the love, reflected in them. Her insides feel like fire, her bones sore and the hairs on her skin standing on end, and still she moves closer, her pulse racing, their arms touching, the muscle in her chest shattering itself against the confinements of her ribcage.

And Aoi had thought of her as something else other than a black hole. Maybe the Big Bang, the beginning of the universe, the explosion that dispersed billions of stars into space.

What is she to you? Someone would ask.

Whatever Kirigiri Kyoko is to her, or _could_ be to her, Aoi knows it’s incomparable to anything else she’s ever known. And that’s terrifying.

However, in the end, it’s still the same.

There is no escape.)

She’s the path forward, and despite everything inside of Aoi crashing with the devastating levels of her love, she willingly finds herself running to the end.

* * *

(“God,” Komaru wheezes out, laughing breathlessly. “If everyone here has to watch you two do that thing you’re doing, we’re going to lock you both inside the _fire escape_ until you kiss or something.”

“Now that’s just mean.” Aoi whines, looking at her younger friend cautiously because she was, like, around eighty percent sure Komaru would conspire with Hiro or something to do that. “What ‘thing’ are we even talking about here?”

“You know.” She gestures vaguely, and then snickers at her. “That thing, the thing yearning people do what yearning people do, except on you two it’s a hundred times worse because I’m watching it live.”

“How did you think we felt watching you then—”

“Nope.” Komaru says crossing her arms. “Been there. Done that.”

“Ugh,” Aoi says, meek, one finger scratching at her cheek awkwardly. “I hate this.”

“You won’t if you confess,” she says cheekily, her grin wide and almost showing teeth.

“ _Ohhhhh_ ,” Aoi draws out, and she knows the fear is seeping into her voice. She feels like she’s tied to a railroad track with an oncoming train. “That’s like, super cool, but like—like, how about I just don’t—”

“No, no! Jeez, what are we? Teenagers? Like, listen—” Komaru raises her arms and waves them around again. “—I get it. You feel like you’re just at the sidelines and, and, _and_ you can’t stop anything, you just watch yourself falling. They’re so incredible, you can’t help it. You know?”

Aoi slows, and stares.

“I love them both,” Komaru says, much more quietly. “It’s not a question of ‘if’, falling in love with them. It’s ‘when’. And I think, I hope, I _know_ it will happen to you too.”

She stares, staring staring staring and _staring_ , and lets her continue.

“Did you know,” Komaru begins, her smile soft and the corners of her mouth turning tender. “Did you know, Syo woke me up around three in the morning to give me a present once? I think she was supposed to give it to me at morning, but maybe she couldn’t wait.”

Aoi laughs, but still keeps listening.

The alarm went off at three twenty-seven on the morning of August fifteen, she starts. And that’s when I knew what was up with me.

“Three twenty-seven,” Syo says with glee, grabbing onto the blankets and throwing them off of Komaru’s form. “Happy birthday!"

“Oh, hey, and wait—it’s not even my birthday?” Komaru snorts, not wide awake, but still pretty close. Three twenty-seven isn’t even the time she was born either—because that’s supposed to be a thing people remember or something.

“Every day’s your birthday if you tried hard enough!” Syo says happily, like it’s a common thing for people to wake up their friends on inappropriate hours before dawn. “I got you that manga you were staring at the mall the other day.”

“You—you what?” Komaru breathes out. “That’s—that’s, um. Wow.”

Syo blushes, cheeks tinging pink, and then thrusts the present into her hands. “Here,” and then, “You were practically drooling over this shit! I just thought that maybe—”

“Hey Syo?” Komaru says shyly, looking at her friend from underneath her eyelashes. “It was sweet for you to do this, and it’s not even my birthday. I love it. Thank you.”

“Right, you’re welcome or something,” Syo trails off, flushing, and then sitting cross-legged on the bed, like now that it’s gotten to this point she isn’t sure what’s going to happen next. “Uh—it might not be your birthday or anything but maybe… I—and miss gloomy, we can try—no—make your birthdays a little better from here on out. If you only want to, that is.”

“Oh,” Komaru murmurs breathlessly, and then smiles. “Yeah. I think I’d love that.” It doesn’t even have to be a birthday, she thinks privately, for you two to make it better.

And then, Komaru finally says to Aoi, and then I just knew, right there, you know? There’s—there’s no time. I can’t explain, but you’ll—you’ll just know it.

The words drift into Aoi’s ears, languidly layering her in the comforting and knowing tone of her friend. There is something about the way it flows from Komaru’s mouth that make her pause.

You’ll just know it, she says. You already do. She does not.

Aoi hears them anyway.

And maybe that's a sign too. Maybe she should stop looking for signs and make her own.)

* * *

It doesn’t get easier.

It isn’t as if Aoi thought it will be, it wasn't as if she has yet to realize that being in love with Kyoko was going to get harder the longer she waited, but the difficulty of everything overpowers her and buries her under. Falling in love with Kirigiri Kyoko had been as easy as breathing, as existing, like a humble hand tugging her to a buffet table and suggesting she ate.

Though keeping the feelings bottled, preventing herself from telling Kyoko how she feels each and every damn second, is an entirely different dilemma—it was like the same force that’s making her fall apart was pushing her head deeper into the water, keeping her from breathing.

Like the air was confessing in her place, admitting to Kyoko that she loved her so much she’s forgotten what it’s like to breathe near her. She was drowning in a pool of her own making, giving away the oxygen from her lungs, keeping her head mulishly underwater for fear that the air she might come to breathe in when she surfaced was poisonous.

No, it doesn’t get easier.

(She waits, waits, waits, indexing the seconds left as if each of it was a lifeline, time slowing and flowing through her entirely. Her heart beats so loudly in her bones, like storms, like thunder, exposed and blown wide open.

She knows this charade will end soon, no matter how much she hates it.

Because the truth has nowhere to run, Aoi thinks vaguely. It doesn't go out through the door, it stays in the windows. In the furniture. In the walls. Because the truth doesn't run.)

“Hina?” Kyoko asks silently, her eyes probing—the sharpness of the lilac glimmering against her face. “You’ve been more distracted recently. What’s going on with you?”

“Uh,” Aoi shifts, averting her gaze, because even now she thinks Kyoko is beautiful. “Uni work?” It comes out lamely, a dumb and pitiful reason that makes her wince.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She says flatly, narrowing her eyes, and there’s a look on her face that’s unreadable, even more so than usual.

It makes Aoi panic. (Noticing how even if it's only been mere minutes, the tension grows to a suffocating degree. Not with the cloud of a blizzard, but the cloud of a bomb.)

“So, um, like… you know,” Aoi doesn’t stumble on words, she doesn’t at all, but it feels different now—now when she feels like there’s something important she needs to say. “Uh, well.”

“…did something happen?” Her tone was unexpectedly delicate, like just one wrong touch and it’ll break; it made Aoi want to curl up in a ball and die. “Did... is something wrong?” _Did I do something wrong?_

“Wait—no, that’s not it at all! You, you, you didn’t— _no!_ ” Aoi quickly reassures her, clambering over the sofa and nearly tripping over the coffee table in an (honestly embarrassing) effort to get to where Kyoko is standing. “ _Ow, fu—_ No, god, that’s not it at all!”

“Then what’s going on?” She asks, tilting her head and looking utterly perplexed, an expression that makes Aoi’s chest ache. “Look, I may not be good with talking about things like these, but I won’t get better at it if you won’t _let_ me.”

“It’s just,” Aoi groans over her words, rubbing her face and looking away from her. “I just, sorry. I’m just…”

“Hina?” Kyoko asks, and her voice is softer now. She takes a hesitant step towards Aoi, moving one hand as though to reach out and hold on to her—but stops, her arm dropping back to her side.

“I’m—Kyoko, I,” And she just can’t get the words out, they get lodged in her throat, sticking at odd angles inside of her and preventing anything but faint and stifled whimpers from escaping. “ _Something’s…_ distracting me.”

(It’s a miracle she’s even managed to say it out loud, with the way her entire body is so insistent on her not talking.)

“Something?” Kyoko steps closer, but stops immediately afterwards. “What is it?”

“Um, yeah, about that.” She swallows the lump in her throat, trying not to cringe at the pathetic excuse she’s used. “I, I yeah, it’s something and it’s not really good for my attention span you know? I guess it’s kind of bad now that you’ve noticed it and—”

“No, hold on.” Kyoko holds up the palm of her hand, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Wait, wait.”

“Okay.” Aoi rasps out, grateful that she’s stopped her from rambling.

“So, you’re distracted.” Kyoko had that look again, the pretty one, the one when she’s problem-solving and _no Aoi this was not the time to stare at her when you are in danger_. “What does it have to do with avoiding me?”

(Some emotion Aoi can’t recognize emerges at the last of Kyoko’s words, but they make her heart hurt all the same.)

“Uh, when, we’re, i-it’s not you,” she’s stumbling still, and it feels like everything is falling over—like taking and dismantling a few bricks away from a tower and it all comes crashing down. “It’s the lights?” Aoi squeaks out.

Kyoko blinks rapidly.

“The... lights?” Now, she only looks even more puzzled.

“Yeah, the lights and, uh, the mugs?” She thinks for a moment, and then she nods firmly. “...yeah. They—they remind me of a color and um, I get distracted by it. Yeah.”

(Because the lights, the mugs, _everything_ she sees in this apartment distracted her. Everything reminded her of Kyoko now. Those little mugs had cute designs that were the same shade of the lilac flecks in Kyoko’ eyes, and that made Aoi think of her—made her think of the lines under them when she smiles, of her face, of her rare but cherished laugh, the way it crinkles at the corners along with her lips when they curve—and then everything else. It was like a slowly intensifying downward spiral, a tidal wave washing up more and more things to take with it, starting with the purple of Kyoko’s eyes and ending with the love Aoi has for her.

So, _maybe_ she should’ve thought of a better excuse just a tiny bit further—because at the moment, Kirigiri Kyoko’s a foot away from her and she is still the most beautiful girl Aoi’s ever seen. Her lavender hair cascades down her spine, the brightness of it a disparity against her black shirt. Her eyes are scrutinizing again, narrowed, contemplative. Her lips looks like a hiding place, the hook at the corners reeling Aoi in and she can do nothing to stop it.

She, and her body, they felt… unlinked.

Like nothing but her head and her eyes were the only ones existing, and the drumming of her fingers against her shorts or the shifting of her feet was happening far off in the back of her mind. Her throat felt parched, and even though she was quite familiar with the feeling, it doesn’t sink in, not with her brain swimming miles and miles—thinking, so much thinking, _god you’re so beautiful_ , before—

See, she wants to say. This is what you do to me.)

“That… what do they remind you of?”

“Um.” You. “Something.” You. “A funny thing I thought of last week.” You.

Her gaze looks too harsh for Aoi’s liking. “We’re just running in circles here.”

“…the funny thing distracts me? I didn’t want to look stupid in front of you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” She says, and then adds in much quieter. “You can never look stupid to me.”

“It makes sense in a way.” Well, it did. To her, at least.

(She tries her best to ignore what her friend said afterwards.)

Kyoko sighs, masking her expression with iron. “Just tell me what they remind you of. I’ll do something about it. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me—”

“Your eyes.” Aoi cries out, because her restraint was non-existent as this point anyway.

“My eyes…?” Kyoko blinks.

“I get distracted because they remind me of your eyes.” Aoi says again, her voice surprisingly steady considering she’s so embarrassed she feels like she’s going to pass out.

Her cheeks are red and she can’t see past it, like at any second her vision will probably start blurring due to the amount of blood rushing to her head and all that’s left will be the last image of Kyoko right in front of her—staring with slightly wide eyes and the tips of her ears flushed.

“My eyes… are a distraction?” Kyoko asks quietly, and it’s almost desperate, before she shakes her head, a seemingly stubborn flourish. “I—well—that’s, hm. It’s—it’s no better than yours but—” She freezes, as though the words didn’t mean to come out of her mouth.

Aoi regrets everything immediately and feels like jumping from the balcony.

Kyoko swallows audibly, looking down at her feet and she looks up at Aoi again, the flush at her ears more visible. “I,” Her expression was unguarded now. A bit dazed. “I—I have a submission due today, I’ll be—”

“Kyoko, wait—”

“Yes?” Her words are shy (embarrassed?), and it makes Aoi’s chest constrict, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I—I get distracted because I keep thinking about you.” Aoi admits quietly, and she isn’t exactly scared anymore, but her voice is filled with that nervousness people hold at their breaths when somebody’s about to announce something.

“...what?” Kyoko releases in a single breath, sounding different than before.

“I see you everywhere,” she manages. “In my room when I’m procrastinating, and in the living room when I’m looking at the bookshelves and those true crime novels you like reading, and even in those little mugs you bought years ago—I see you everywhere, all the time. I think of you when I see those small notebooks at the convenience store or that really specific brand of coffee you like to buy and—and, every thought I have always comes back to _you_. You live here, and… I don’t think I can kick you out.” Her words come out confusing and messy and unorganized and almost senseless, but from the look on her face Aoi thinks that Kyoko somehow caught all of it anyway.

“Hina,” she says, so tenderly that there is nothing stopping Aoi’s self-control from collapsing anymore.

“You—you’ve always been in here. I don’t think I can get you out of my head at this point.” Aoi confesses, achingly. “It’s like even when I go to sleep all I see and hear and think about is you, and when I wake up all I can remember is the things I want but can’t have.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Kyoko whispers softly, looking down, away from Aoi as her shoulders shake away the weight of something she can’t see. “Who said anything about that?”

“I—you—what?” Aoi stares, “What are you—”

“I’m in love with you too,” Kyoko says, her voice soft and quiet. She looks back up at Aoi, her face open and vulnerable and so desperate that her head spins a little. “…you’re in love with me? That’s what you’re trying to say, right?”

(Yes please god yes I love you I love you so much please please—)

“Yeah.” She manages to choke out, ending it with an awkward laugh. “I—I might’ve seen it bit late, but I know that I am. For a long time.”

(And now it’s suddenly like she _needs_ to say it aloud, like she needs to confirm if everything happening before her was real when she goes—I love you, I love you so much, I’ve been in love with you for so long—the words whispered against the palm of Kyoko’s gloveless hand, the one resting against her cheek.)

“Hina.” Kyoko whispers, a soft wanting sound that makes her want to faint. “I love you too.” She says against Aoi, breath on her face. “I love you.”

And she says it so earnestly it almost burns.

“I love you.” Kyoko’s voice turns into a gasp against her, their noses nearly brushing together as the distance between them slowly disappears. “I love you.”

“You—you’re in love with me.” Aoi whispers, soft and quiet. “You love me back.”

Kyoko’s smile widens, and she knows it’s not a trick of the light, her purple eyes are gleaming like she’s where the sun goes home to when it’s time for it to set, like she is fireworks, the crashing stars, the oceans are exactly where they belong.

(She looks like a goddess, Aoi thinks, like something mythologized, out from one of Fukawa Toko’s fiction novels. There’s no way she can really exist, can’t really be hers, can’t really belong to anyone else alive.

Aoi can prove that wrong.

Finally, there is no thinking needed here.

Mindless.

How have I touched her with these hands? She would ask herself.

You’ve learned to love, she would say back.

Calms after storms are rare and fleeting, and yet.

And yet.)

“I do.” She hears Kyoko murmur against her lips, feels the next coming years in the lifelines of her palms. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Aoi says back, again and again and again and again. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love—

She doesn’t know who cuts off who, because suddenly their lips are pressed together, and their faces are slick with sweat and maybe there’s a bit of tears too and it’s a little gross but Aoi loves her and she can’t find it in herself to care. Kyoko laughs into it, wiping the mess off of her face when they separate only for her to come back in again, holding desperately to Aoi’s hips—her grip so light and loving it almost hurts to be held in it. Aoi’s arms wrap around Kyoko’s back and they’re kissing again, and it’s bliss. It’s bliss.

I kiss you as if this is my last, she thought of saying. Which is kind of hilarious because this is my first.

“You’re in love with me.” Kyoko says, a gasping, shuddering breath against Aoi’s mouth. She says it like she can’t believe it and Aoi feels like she should be the one saying those words with how much time she’s spent mulling over her feelings and thinking it’ll never be reciprocated.

(Could it have occurred to your mind at one point, _this is left unsaid_ , that it must have been the same for me when it came to my feelings for _you?_ )

“Yeah, I am.” Aoi whispers, threading her fingers through Kyoko’s hair because it was one of the first things she’s ever wanted to do ever since she knew. The lavender locks are soft against her skin, the sensation of it against her fingers more than a little sinful. “Did you know everyone thought we were dating?”

“Maybe we were.” Kyoko murmurs, leaning into her touch. “It’s dumb. Even I didn’t know.”

“That’s—that’s awesome?” She laughs, breathless like it’s a permanent condition, the noise coming out of her mouth enough to rival spring, the snow over the sea, the white sand of the shores. “That’s great. Now I don’t feel as stupid as I did over everything.”

(Maybe now she’s done with longing. Years and years and years of it.

No. It's just starting.)

“Oh,” Kyoko whispers, drawing her into another kiss and finding the next lifetime charted in her lips. “Me too.”

I love you, Asahina Aoi says one last time, and the world rights itself.

(She owes Yuta a thousand yen.)

**Author's Note:**

> no beta this time! hi sev if you are reading this sorry this didn't get to you first lol
> 
> this is a bit self-indulgent bc i adore kirihina and they make me :] i love sakuraoi sm but *shakes can* wheres the krhn content!!!! and, uh, anyways, i hope you enjoyed reading!


End file.
